Work for It
by Scallisaac
Summary: When Allison drags Lydia along to the gym with her, Lydia never expects to lay eyes on someone like Cora Hale, co-founder of the Hale Personal Fitness Program along with her brother Derek. And it just so happens that there are some things that she's willing to work up a sweat over.
1. Chapter 1

Lydia Martin is _such_ a good friend. So good, in fact, that she's willing to give up her Saturday morning— where she should be still sleeping soundly, bundled up under her covers and catching up on all the sleep she's inevitably missed during the week—to get up bright and early and accompany Allison to the gym.

Okay, so maybe 'willing' isn't quite the right word. 'Forced' to come along and 'dragged' out of bed might be more suitable, Lydia reflects moodily, as she thinks back to that morning, of Allison barging into her cozy little apartment as if she lived there (_why_did Lydia ever think it would be a good idea to give her her own key) and jumping onto her bed, shaking her awake and insisting that she come with her and keep her company.

"No," she had said, "Absolutely not. You know I have a strict policy against these kinds of things, Allison! Why don't you ask Kira? Don't you guys usually go together? Like you, and unlike me, she seems to _like_causing herself physical exhaustion."

"Kira has the flu," Allison had whined, pouting her lips and frowning.

"And I hate going to that place all by myself. C'mon Lydia, do your best friend a favor? I'd love you forever."

Lydia had sighed and thrown a pillow at her friend, resigning herself to her fate.

"As if you didn't already."

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And that's how she ended up here, at a place she swore up and down she'd never step foot in, wearing probably the only sports bra she owns and looking extremely out of place, with her hair bunched up in a ponytail but still perfectly curled and her bright red lipstick sticking out like a sore thumb.

The local gym is everything she expected it to be. There are the people who are obviously serious, who, like Allison, are genuinely there to get a good workout in and to exercise and build up muscle.

And then there's the posers—mostly men sauntering around without their shirts on, struggling to bench weight that's clearly too much for them and going through all sorts of ridiculous measures to show off.

There are a good amount of women on the treadmills and ellipticals, but there are also plenty who are making use of the various exercise machines and equipment as well.

It's cold in here, so much so that she wishes she had brought along a jacket. The AC is blasting right over her head and causing her skin to break out in goose bumps, and even though she knows just from looking around her at the sweat trickling down these peoples' faces and soaking through their clothes that it makes perfect sense for it to be cold in here—people come here to work out and understandably heat up quite a bit while doing so, but it only serves to make her resent this place even more.

Honestly, it's like she's destined to hate it here.

Lydia scrunches up her nose at the strong smell of sweat, along with something stale and pungent, that assaults her senses, making it explicitly clear that she'd rather be anywhere else but here.

As she examines her nails and channels all her effort into looking as bored and sick of this place as possible, she suddenly feels an elbow dig into her side.

"Ow, what the hell, Allison?"

Allison just looks at her and shakes her head in exasperation at the show she's putting on.

"I'm going to run for a bit to warm up and then I'm going to hit the weights; I need to strengthen my bow arm if I want to win that archery competition next Wednesday. Like I told you before, you don't have to do anything while we're here. You can just stand by and keep me company, if you really want. But you might as well at least try some of the machines—it couldn't hurt."

Lydia just waves her away and continues to lounge against the counter, contenting herself with her favorite pastime: people-watching.

She watches as Allison makes her way towards the room with the indoor track, and it's clear that her friend is a regular here, based on the way that people smile and wave at her as she passes by, weaving her way through the machines, as though they all recognize her.

Lydia leans against the front desk and drums her nails against the wood, scanning the room in front of her as she contemplates whether or not the elliptical might be worth giving a try, when she sees her.

She can't be much taller than Lydia, and she looks around the same age.

She's in tight spandex shorts that show off the perfect curve of her ass, and a simple black sports bra that does wonders for her chest and gives Lydia ample cause to stare.

But most impressive by far are the muscles that stand out in her back, her shoulders, her arms, her legs. It's her perfectly sculpted calves, her plainly evident six-pack, and the way the muscles in her back bunch up when she moves what makes it really hard to look away.

Lydia has always had a thing for strong, muscular guys, but she has an even _bigger_ thing for strong, muscular girls.

To put it simply, this girl is ripped, completely and beautifully built, and she's never seen anyone with such a perfect body before.

The girl suddenly looks up at Lydia, mid push-up, and catches her eye, as if she can sense that she's being watched, and Lydia's heart flutters in her chest.

She's got one of those looks about her—perhaps it's the shape of her eyebrows or the harsh set of her mouth, but it's almost as though she has one of those default _'I hate everything'_ kind of expressions.

She looks bored and maybe a little bit put out, but somehow Lydia can tell that she doesn't really mean to—that's just the way her face looks.

Her eyes are hard but determined, and her light-brown hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, rigid and severe like everything else about her.

If any of this might have been off-putting to any other onlooker, perhaps intimidated them or scared them off, it's certainly not to Lydia.

On the contrary, she's completely captivated by this girl, and she suddenly wants to know everything there is to know about her, to get past her hard exterior and find what's hiding underneath.

Lydia finds herself imagining what it would be like to see her smile, to make her moan, to break down the walls she seems to have built up around her, to loosen her up and see her let her hair down.

And she wants to be the one to do all these things, to get some sort of rise or emotion out of this girl.

She's utterly intrigued, and when Lydia wants something, she'll be damned if she doesn't go after it.

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"Allison," she pants, running up beside her after sprinting to catch up as Allison does her laps around the track, "I need to ask you something. This is important."

Allison looks understandably surprised to see Lydia running—or at least attempting to run—next to her, and notes that if Lydia is willingly running without being chased then it must be something important.

She stops abruptly and pulls her earbuds out as Lydia stops and bends over, resting her hands on her knees as she wheezes and tries to catch her breath.

"What's up, Lydia?" Allison asks, her voice laden with concern.

"I need…you to…tell me…who…that is!" she gasps out between breaths and jabs a finger in the general direction of the weight room, and Allison follows her gaze to a girl who is doing pull-ups with such ease that Allison can't help but be a little bit jealous.

"Oh, her? That's Cora Hale. I think she runs some sort of fitness training class here with her brother Derek. It's like their family business or something."

Something flickers in Lydia's eyes, and as soon as her breathing returns to normal, she grabs Allison by the wrist and drags her out of the indoor track room.

"Hey—wait! Where are we going? I was in the middle of my run, Lydia!"

Lydia doesn't even look back at her as she makes her way back towards the front desk, Allison in tow.

"Come on, we have a class to sign up for."


	2. Chapter 2

Lydia taps her foot impatiently as the woman at the front desk, whose faded, worn name-tag identifies as 'Carol,' complete with poorly drawn little smiley face and all, pulls up the information they need on her computer.

"The next class doesn't start until 9, if you're willing to wait a little bit— they're on their break right now. Lucky for you two, there are still a couple of spots open. Our classes are usually pretty limited in size, that way each of our trainers can provide personal attention to each individual trainee at some point during the class."

Lydia's eyes light up at the mention of receiving personal attention from the trainers (with one trainer in particular in mind, of course), and slaps her hand down on the desk, making the woman—'Carol :)'—jump.

"Great! Sign us up, then."

Carol smiles warmly at Allison, who appears the perfect picture of fitness, but frowns as she looks back to Lydia— who's very obviously never stepped foot in a gym before in her life— and eyes her suspiciously.

"And what exactly is it that you're training for? I have to warn you, this is a very intense class..."

"That's none of your business," Lydia snaps, and Carol sighs in defeat.

"Very well. Any preference as to which trainer you ladies would like to be paired with?"

"Yeah," Lydia's eyes are suddenly bright again and her lips are curled into a wicked smile. "Yeah, I want Cora Hale, please."

_(In more ways than one_, she thinks to herself—but poor old Carol doesn't need to know those details.)

Carol's eyebrows seem to shoot up into her hairline in surprise as she looks Lydia up and down again, shaking her head incredulously.

"Are you sure about that? Cora's methods are rather...severe. She's very hard on her trainees, works them into the ground really, and she won't coddle you through any of it. Don't expect to hear 'good job' or 'keep up the good work' or any of that if Cora is your trainer. Her idea of encouragement is not the nice 'you can do it' kind of approach. And her brother Derek used to be pretty much the same, although he's definitely softened up a bit ever since Scott McCall started working here. Scott's the one we usually get people making requests for—he's got a much, well, _nicer _approach to things. I've only ever heard good things about him from his clients; all of them say he's very friendly and encouraging. He's just got this way with people—it's practically impossible _not_ to like the kid."

Lydia is examining her nails, barely paying attention to anything Carol is saying, because her mind has already been made up, and once she's got her mind set on something there's no use trying to change it.

"I'd like to be with Scott," Allison chimes in, obviously won over. "It's not that I can't handle Cora or Derek or their training style, it's just that I'm so hard on myself already, it might be nice to have someone positive and encouraging helping me out for a change."

The woman behind the counter nods and types something into her computer before looking back up at them.

"Alright, I've put you two in the 9:00 class. It meets ever Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and you'll start up today. Good luck," she says, and although she's addressing both of them, she's looking right at Lydia as she says it, as if to imply _'you're going to need it."_

Lydia fishes through her purse for money for the entrance fee to the class, insisting on paying for Allison too despite her friend's protests (because this was _her_ idea, after all).

And so they wait where they're told to wait, and gradually other people join them as 9:00 draws closer and closer, people who Lydia assumes must be in the class, too. She tries not to think to much about how muscular and in shape most of them look already, but she can't help the sudden feeling of nervousness flooding through her veins.

Finally they're rounded up by the trainers, and each of them calls out the names of the people on their list. Allison waves a quick goodbye to her as Scott calls her name, and Lydia smirks at the flustered look on her friend's face when Scott stares at her with warm, brown eyes and flashes her a dimpled smile.

Cora calls Lydia's name, and although she doesn't give her anything remotely close to a smile, Lydia is sure she must look just as flustered as Allison.

Because if she thought that Cora looked good from far away, that's nothing compared to seeing her up close, and Lydia practically has to restrain herself from reaching out and feeling the muscles standing out on the biceps of her tightly crossed arms.

It's not until Cora has called the other four people on her list that she really looks up from her clipboard and gets a good look at them all, her eyes coming to rest on Lydia. Her gaze is cold and judgmental, and her expression isn't the least bit friendly as she stares at her through narrowed eyes. Lydia does her best not squirm under her gaze—she's not one to be intimidated by other people, but there's something about the way that Cora is looking at her that makes her feel anxious.

Lydia does her best to control her emotions, to slow down the rapid beating of her heart as Cora goes around and asks what everyone's current level and physical ability is and realizing too late, as everyone else is giving their answers, that she is in way over her head.

When Cora finally gets to her, all Lydia can do is blink at her, completely lost for words.

Cora pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs in frustration before repeating the question with exaggerated slowness.

"What is your current level of physical activity?"

"Well...I walk my dog Prada every morning and evening. That counts for something, right?" she replies cheekily with the only thing that she can think of.

Lydia swears she can practically hear Cora growl at her answer.

"Oh, come on," she says, trying to appease the situation, "not even a little smile? You know that was funny."

But Cora clearly doesn't think anything of the sort, because she continues to glare at her, eyes blazing with anger.

"Do you think this is a joke? There are people who came here prepared to work hard, and here you are just wasting my time. Why_ are_ you even here?"

Lydia thinks it would probably sound a bit over-dramatic to say 'for you' and resists the urge to blurt it out anyway.

Instead, she makes herself stand a little taller, squares her shoulders, and looks Cora straight in the eye, refusing to look away despite the fact that Cora is still glaring daggers at her.

"Calm down, sweetheart. I'm here to work hard, too. I want to be stronger, like my friend Allison."

Cora bristles at the word 'sweetheart,' at Lydia's audacity to address her as such, but she can't find cause to argue with her reason—and she's momentarily appeased.

"Alright, then, what are we waiting for? Let's get to work."

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About two grueling, hellish, incredibly painful hours later, the class is finally, blessedly over, and every muscle on Lydia's body is sore, every inch of her is in pain to the point where it hurts to move, and she's feeling queasy and dehydrated and so exhausted she could pass out on the floor right where she stands.

She hobbles her way out of the weight room and waits impatiently for Allison, who's still chatting amicably with Scott and continuing to get along incredibly well with him. Lydia can't help the stab of jealousy at the fact that Allison seems to be well on her way to getting Scott's number, and the fact that she also barely looks tired at all—she looks radiant and full of energy as she talks to Scott, and while Lydia is sure she must look like a pile of sweaty trash right now, Allison just seems to _glisten, _as if she's barely even broken a sweat.

Her thoughts are side-tracked when she notices Cora approaching her, and she's not quite sure if the sudden spike of queasiness in her stomach is because it looks like she's about to be talking to Cora one-on-one or because she might actually throw up from all of the physical exhaustion she's put herself through. (She really hopes it's not the latter, that she's just experiencing butterflies in her stomach and that she's not about to up-chuck all over Cora's expensive running shoes.)

"Look—Lydia, is it?" Cora asks, and Lydia is momentarily taken aback at how soft her voice sounds—at least, softer by far than she's heard it be all morning, softer than she ever imagined it _could_ be.

And it's not just her voice—her features are softer too and her eyebrows are knitted together in concern, the harsh set of her mouth off-put by the small, worried frown tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Yeah," Lydia gasps out, still working to catch her breath and to stop the room from spinning, nursing a nasty stitch in her side and forcing herself to keep her breakfast down.

"I saw you out there—you were working really hard, I'll give you that. I'd like to apologize that I ever doubted that you would; to be perfectly honest I thought you were going to give up after the first ten minutes. But the fact still stands that you are incredibly far behind the rest of the class— these are all people who have been working at this for a while now, and you've only really just started. I won't lie to you—this is not meant to be a class for beginners.

But...I admire your dedication, and that's why I'm going to offer to train you separately. I do personal training on the side anyway, and that way I could start you off at the right level instead of something that's too advanced for you—and you wouldn't have to pay me again, of course, since you've already paid for the class, but you'd just be doing something else instead. So, what do you say?"

By the time Cora is done talking, Lydia has finally regained her ability to say more than two words without wheezing, and her heart is suddenly doing somersaults in her chest.

This is _perfect_, she thinks to herself, completely elated at the offer. Cora as her personal trainer— what better way to have an excuse to spend time with her, to really get to know her?

"Well, thanks. I'd love that, really. Would I just meet you here at the gym during one of your breaks between classes?"

"You could, but it would probably be easier if I just came to you—I train a lot of people in their homes; it's much easier to plan around. I could come after I get off work here like I do with my other clients. Just tell me a time that works for you."

This just keeps getting better and better, and Lydia can't _believe_ her luck—Cora Hale, personally training her, full-out one-on-one sessions, _in her own home_.

It's literally a golden opportunity.

They work out the details and Cora explains that the hours are flexible and not always set in stone and then, miracle of miracles, _she gives Lydia her phone number_.

Sure, it's just a precautionary method just so that Lydia can contact her if she needs to reschedule the time or anything or if something comes up, she can't help feeling like a giddy school girl after getting digits from a crush.

"Alright, well, see you then," Cora says, giving Lydia a little wave and heading back into the weight room, Lydia staring intently at the muscles working in her legs as she walks away and sighing happily.

She's proud of herself— it's not until Cora is completely out of eyesight that she finally turns to the nearest trashcan, nearly collapsing headfirst into it in exhaustion, and promptly throws up.


End file.
